The Chronicles of a Courier
by NeoResilience
Summary: Madison Hydian and her trip across the Mojave. Follows main plot but includes many different changes, such as new companions, quests, dialogue, and more! Please review, follow, favorite, all that good stuff. May contain some mature parts, but overall rated T.
1. Chapter 1

March 23rd, 2283.  
The Divide.

"Who are you, that do not know your history?" The Flag-Bearer asked, holding a metal eagle over my head. This was the second time I've been bound with a weapon aimed at my head. I looked up into Ulysses' eyes and smiled.

"Says the man carrying an aquila. I thought you abandoned Caesar, wanted to reawaken America?" I asked, my red hair falling back. I squirmed under the rope digging into my wrists. The way I was tied, my breasts were being smashed together and the police jacket I wore was pinching my shoulder. I felt my left wrist for my Pip-Boy 3000, but it was missing.

"No..not reawaken it. You did that. You awoke this sliver of America. You awoke and destroyed. You should let sleeping dogs lie." Ulysses whispered, kicking the corpse of Rex. I bit my tongue in anger. Rex had run off into The Divide, and I chased after him. I walked right into this trap.

"But America's only playing possum, right?"

October 14th, 2282.  
Goodsprings Cemetery.

My name is Madison Hydian, a Courier for the Mojave Express. Currently, I'm on my knees and tied up, surrounded by a group of men. Now for some people this may be the greatest fantasy ever, but I was currently facing a hideous suit and an empty grave. They took something from me- a Platinum Poker Chip. The package. They forced me to break my own rule, number three: Never Open The Package. One of the men next to Checkers spoke up.

"You got what you were after, so pay up!"

"You're cryin' in the rain, pally." Checkers replied with a grin. He lifted a cigarette to his mouth and breathed in, slowly.

"Guess who's waking up over here?" Another man said with amusement. I breathed in through my nose and smelled a combination of menthol, jet, and blood. A fight, maybe? I should've paid more attention to my surroundings. It was an easy job- 250 caps. Go to the New Vegas Strip, deliver the package. Done, easy, over.

Checkers dropped the cigarette and grounded it with his foot. I didn't understand why people bothered to put cigarettes out. It's not like they could destroy anything worth saving. The man next to him was holding the shovel that was so recently used to dig this lovely grave was sporting a Mohawk and getting the jitters. I guess whatever drug was in his system is leaving it, and he needs to get his next fix.

"Time to cash out." Checkers said, getting an angry look from the black man to my left.

"Will you get it over with?" He asked. At least this one didn't look strung out on anything.

Checkers lifted a hand, before showing only his index finger. He was telling him 'one moment'. As if this was some kind of party. 'One moment, sir, the guests have arrived.' I really wish I had Fire Gecko DNA or something. I could breathe fire on these assholes.

"Maybe Khans kill people without lookin' 'em in the face, but I ain't a fink, dig?" Checkers replied, looking right into my eyes. So, these guys were Khans? Now would have been a wonderful time for someone to show up. Hell, I've punched a deathclaw in the face before, that's not something a lot of seventeen year olds can do and live to tell the tale. I wish I still had that Penknife from that Nightkin attack though.

He reached into the left inner pocket of his jacket, and pulled out the package. He smiled just for a moment.

"You've made your last delivery, kid. Sorry you got twisted up in this scene."

He reached back into his jacket and replaced the Chip with a pistol. It looked like a 9mm, but it was far prettier than most. I don't know why I think the gun's pretty, especially since it was probably going to fire a bullet into my skull.

"From where you're kneeling, must seem like an eighteen karat run of bad luck." Checkers lifted the gun and aimed it right between my eyes.

"Truth is," he grinned, "The game was rigged from the start." I saw his finger start to pull the trigger, but before I could do anything, I heard the bang a second before darkness fell over me.

**A/N: This will hopefully be a successful story about what happens in the story of The Courier, what could have happened, and what happens afterwards. I tried my best on the quotes from the introduction, but I may have got one or two things wrong. Anyway, please review, follow, favorite, all that good stuff. I hope to make another update soon. Also, in case some of you may have noticed, I'm re-doing this story. I felt bad about the writing in the later chapters. Don't worry; it's all going to be the same plot. I'm just going to tweak it and such.**


	2. Chapter 2

October 22, 2281  
Doc Mitchell's House

Darkness flooded the world, glimmers of light shined across my eyes. I felt a breeze on my face, cool water on my brow. I opened my eyes slowly, yet painfully. I observed my surroundings.

I was in a house with low lighting, and boards over the window. A fan was rotating slowly above me, giving the breeze. I looked down at myself and saw I had only a thin sheet covering my body. I stood up and wrapped the sheet around my chest, before getting up. A major mistake.

A hammer hit my brain, sending waves of pain. I felt dizzy and my vision started to fade just a bit. I bent down, placing a knee on the ground and supporting myself with my right hand. I took a deep breath and stood back up. It wasn't as bad this time. I walked over to a mirror and looked at myself.

My eyes were as blue as always. My skin held a few scars, but they were always there. My face was bruised slightly, my lip was busted, but other than that, I was still pretty. My hair was a mess. Its red color was tainted with bits of dried mud and blood, and there were some stitches on my scalp. What had happened? Oh, that's right. I was shot. I closed my eyes and tried to remember what happened before the package was stolen, but only headaches and darkness arrived.

"So, you're finally up and about. How about that.." a male voice trailed off behind me. I opened my eyes and looked in the mirror, seeing an older man lacking hair on his head but not on his lip. I assumed he was the one who stitched me up.

"So, you're the doc?" I asked in a scratchy voice. I coughed, realizing how dry my throat and mouth were.

"Yeah, I'm Doc Mitchell. Welcome to Goodsprings."

"Well, thanks for fixing me up. I'll just be going now.." I replied, feeling very vulnerable to him at the moment.

"Not so fast, little lady. I need to run a few more tests, see if all your faculties are runnin'." He replied, grabbing my elbow.

I sighed, blinked a few times, and then walked towards the bed that held me. Halfway through, I tripped and knocked a cart over. A syringe of what I assumed was Med-X fell, and I grabbed it before it hit the ground. I lifted the cart back up and placed the syringe back on it. Doc Mitchell made a sound that was similar to a bloatfly humming. I sat down on the bed.

"Now, I'm just going to have you do a few things for me, and then I'll do an evaluation. How's that sound? Nothing too difficult, just the routine." Doc Mitchell spoke, sitting in the chair by the bed.

"Alright, sounds good. What do I have to do?" I asked, really wishing I had something to actually put on.

"Well, let's start off simple. What's your name?"

"Madison Hydian." I replied. I was happy I could at least remember that.

"Not the name I would have chosen for you, but if that's your name that's your name." Doc Mitchell muttered. I threw a book at him.

"You shoulda been named 'bitchell'. Surprised you even survived out here, insulting people like that." I spat, angered.

"Alright, calm down. I'm sorry, okay? Let's just move on. Here's a shirt and some shorts. Put those on and meet me out back."

He left and I stood up, dropping the sheet to the floor. The shirt was small, and the fact my breasts were pushing against it didn't help. The shirt barely passed my belly button. At least the shorts were long. I made sure he was outside before looking around in cabinets and drawers, before finding a bloodstained, button-up shirt that I assumed was mine. I slid that on over the t-shirt and buttoned it up before going out the back door.

"You got to see plenty while I was out. No more, pervert." I replied when he saw me wearing the shirt.

"I could have done a lot more than look, honey. Let's just get on with the tests, okay? I'm gonna see if all your muscles are working. You might be able to move them around, but that doesn't mean you didn't get damage or anything. Let's see how many push-ups you can do. Remember, keep your body flat."

I lowered myself to the ground and placed my hands at my shoulders, and pushed myself up. I did about ten before my arms quit and I collapsed to the ground.

"Well, you're not that strong, but I didn't expect as much with your petite frame and all. Alright, while we're waiting for you to get your strength back I'm going to ask you a few general questions involving math and the like."

"Alright," I replied, rolling over and sitting up.

"If I had 200 caps, and you had 100, what would our total be?"

"300 caps, duh."

"We're just startin', now. Remember that. Okay. If we took those three hundred caps and bought stimpaks at the price of 85 caps a piece, how many could we get?"

"Three, with 45 caps remaining."

"Alright, they get a little trickier now..I'm going to read a sentence and I want you to tell me how many letters are in it. You also only have seven seconds after I finish it. Here's the sentence: "Not all mutants are yellow, fellow."

I blinked, and then thought _Three three seven three six six._

"28."

"Wow, that's pretty impressive. Here's the last question for you. If a woman was having difficulty breathing, dilated pupils, tremors, and a high fever, how would you treat each?"

"With a bullet through her skull. I have no clue, doc."

"Well, that's morbid. But your intelligence seems to be higher than most, but I know a few who could outsmart you. Glad to see that bullet didn't ruin you. Alright, normally I'd have you run or something but I noticed you're below average when it comes to stamina and resistance. You died twice during the operation. And you're pretty blunt when it comes to saying things, so I'd say you're not that charismatic. I noticed your fast reflexes when you grabbed that med-x out of the air, but I want to see your flexibility, just in case. Place your legs in front of you and reach out as far as you can, please."

I moved my legs, and bent forward. I grabbed each of my heels, and then sat back up.

"Alright, now I want you to stand up and bend backwards until you can't any more. Don't break your spine now." He warned.

I stood up, brushing the dust off of me, before bending backwards. The world went upside down for a moment, before I brought myself back up.

"Well, you're flexible, fast, and I've never seen anyone else as agile. Shame you couldn't dodge that bullet. Alright, there's no real way to test this last one, but all the same I'll try something. Here are a deck of cards. I'll give you two and I'll have two."

"If we're playing blackjack, just say so." I said, flipping my cards to reveal a jack and an ace. This repeated a few times before Mitchell stopped.

"Well, I guess you are lucky. Besides the surviving a bullet to the head, of course."

I got up and was about to leave when he stopped me again.

"Just because you're in control of your body and mind, doesn't mean you're insane. I'm gonna do a psych evaluation. I'm gonna say a word, and you say the first thing that comes to mind: Dog."

I sighed, wanting this to be over already. The first word that entered my mind was:

"Legion."

"Well, I guess you know about them then. Next word: House."

"Vegas."

"Of course you would. Next is 'Night'."

"Blue Moon."

"One of my favorites. Bandit."

"Decapitate."

"I'm not even going to comment on that. Next up: Light."

"Dark."

"Mother."

"Human Shield."

"Didn't need to hear that. Here are some statements. Tell me how they relate to you. First up, Conflict isn't in my nature."

"Strongly."

"I don't rely on others for support."

"Neutral."

"I want to be the center of attention."

"Highly disagree."

"I'm slow to embrace new ideas."

"Disagree."

"I charge into problems without thinking."

"Neutral."

"Alright, look at these blots and tell me what you see. Here's the first."

The picture appeared to be of a barrier with figures on both sides.

"Looks like a bear and a bull at Hoover dam."

The second picture looked like an antenna coming from a crevice of a cave.

"A radio tower."

The last one looked like two bears high-fiving.

"Two bears high-fiving."

"Well, that's it. You seem pretty sane. Any other identifiable things about you, like quirks or the like?"

"Well, I'm need some practice before I can truly understand something. I'm pretty skilled, but it's hard to get going. That's mostly it."

"Yeah, fits your type. That's about it. Guess you can go if you want. Might want to stick around though, until I can take those stitches out."

"I guess I could, but I'd like to have my belongings back now."

"Sure, no problem. They're in that metal box over there by the dresser, I washed most of it. Didn't get around to the shirt though."

I walked over to it and lifted the lid off, looking at what was inside: A pair of black boots and socks, dark skinny jeans, a white, v-neck tee, a 9mm pistol with a full clip, a switchblade, and an envelope. I lifted everything out and carried it to the bathroom where I closed and locked the door before undressing. I took the button-up shirt off and placed it in the sink, and slid the shorts and shirt off. Halfway through pulling my pants up, however, I realized it might help to have another layer of cloth. The skinny jeans were tight was they were, so I took the switchblade and cut the length of the shorts in half before sliding those on. The small shirt got the sleeves cut off, and was cut lower on the top. I pulled the v-neck over it and looked in the mirror: the undershirt was invisible. I pulled the skinny jeans up and buttoned them before sliding my socks and boots on. Some people tucked their jeans in, but I always wore them over the boot. Just my preference. I turned the nozzle of the sink, just to see if it worked. It sprayed out a jet of water that soaked the button-up and turned the draining water red. I sprinkled some abraxo cleaner on it and then rubbed the button-up against itself. It was a tan shirt, not brown as I had suspected. It must have been from the grave I was dug out of.

I wringed it of any excess water and put it on, buttoning it up only halfway. I tossed the scraps of cloth into a bin and walked back out, having the pistol in my pocket and the switchblade in the other. The envelope I had was folded up in my back pocket. I headed towards the door when I noticed Mitchell was standing there with a device in his hand.

"Here," he said, tossing it to me, "It's a pip-boy 3000. Put it on your wrist and it'll help read your vitals and such. It's got some other things on there too, but I'll let you figure it out. And here's a duffle bag to carry some gear in."

I took the pip-boy and placed it in the duffel bag, getting an odd look from the doc.

"I'm not putting anything on until I know exactly what it'll do." I said, slinging the strap over my shoulder and walking out the door.

I was met by a blinding sun.

**A/N: Well, this is a really talkative chapter. I've done a lot of non-dialogue work in the past. Leave some reviews, follow, favorite, etc. By the way, I'm not going to have the main companions, really. Just ED-E and a little bit of Rex. I think you guys will really enjoy these new companions compared to the others. (Update: Minor changes.)**


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